


The Tale of a Spy

by demonicangel237



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Multi, Will be adding tags as I go, just to avoid spoilers lmao
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-06
Updated: 2017-03-06
Packaged: 2018-09-28 14:55:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10122086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/demonicangel237/pseuds/demonicangel237
Summary: A good spy is one whose name is not known, who slips through the night undetected. What use is the head of special operations if everyone knows his name?





	

They knew him as a translator.

Of course, such a position was useless. What was the point of a translator when everything they needed to know was easily downloaded off some computer? There were whole dictionaries available, in every language imaginable. The planets they visited were advanced enough that there was no need for the middle man.

And so Jazz gained a new title: the freeloading slacker. 

Every so often, someone would see him sweeping a hallway, or slipping into Ratchet’s office. The rumor mill had thrived off of that one, with whispers as to why he was in there. Was he stealing medicine? Was he secretly sleeping with the CMO? 

He had been ordered to keep it that way. The fewer people who knew of his position, the better. After all, what use was a spy if everyone knew his name? 

The Autobots had been told that all secret operations went through Optimus, and Optimus alone. They didn’t know about the midnight meetings, behind locked doors and with all of the nearby cameras deactivated. They didn’t see Jazz slipping out to infiltrate the Decepticons, under a disguise and a new name.

Very few people knew of his position. Optimus gave his orders, Ratchet tended to his injuries, and Ironhide provided his weapons. Mirage kept his cover, feeding the rumor mill with scraps of information, letting it slip that Jazz had been drinking or that he was in trouble for some reason or another. Prowl planned his infiltrations.

Nobody else knew.

So he fought. 

Sometimes it was alongside the Decepticons, attacking his fellow Autobots with a ferocity that nobody would expect of the lazy Autobot slacker. He’d make sure the others went away wounded, but without life-threatening injuries.Nevermind the fact that he would vanish for days afterward as he meticulously made his way back to the ship, doing his best to avoid suspicion. He’d drop the disguise miles from base, as soon as he was away from enemy lines. 

It continued over the course of the war for Cybertron; during battles that lasted days on end. Even after the battles, it took days to sneak around patrols, hiding among corpses as he waited for armed enemies to pass him. They were fighting for every last inch of land, and damn if Jazz would be able to pass through if he was spotted. So he snuck around, memorizing the patrol patterns and darting through holes in security. 

 

Part of him died with Cybertron. 

He knew that war ravaged homes; it took away what you took for granted and left you with nothing more than a husk of what once had been. It had happened with Yoketron, so long ago, with the dojo torn to pieces and his sensei lying in the rubble.He still remembered the shock of seeing him there, cold and gray. Now, it wasn’t the bot who had raised him lying in the rubble, but the whole planet. What once had glowed blue and yellow with energon and cities now was nothing more than a heap of metal, dully reflecting the light of the star. 

Jazz watched out of the window as the ship flew away. The planet seemed to grow smaller behind them, and when it vanished behind passing debris, he turned away. 

His room was small, lacking even the smallest luxuries. A bed barely big enough for his frame was shoved against a wall, and the table next to it was bare. Warships were not built for comfort, save for the Officer’s Quarters, and even those only had a tiny shower that Prime barely fit into. Maybe, over time, Jazz could fill it with trinkets and posters he came across on planets they stopped by, but for now, this dark, bare, lifeless room was home.

**Author's Note:**

> This chapter was short, I know, but it's more of a preface than anything else. I'm not sure when I'll update, but hopefully, it will be often!


End file.
